Bakery
by bobness
Summary: Arthur Kirkland's bakery is currently failing. It's only with help from a Frenchman that the business can get back up and running. FrUK, rated T for sexual situations and language in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**And I have a new multi-chapter fanfic for you guys! It's FrUK, as stated in the summary, and...well, you can find the chapters on my Livejournal. If you want. If not, though, I'll update this once a week for five weeks, since, ya know...I have five chapters. :D**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.  
**

* * *

"Welcome to Kirkland's Bakery, how may I help you?" Arthur asked in a bored voice, not even bothering to look up as he heard the door open. He was far too engrossed in his Charles Dickens novel to do so, anyway. Besides, it's not like anyone ever came in his bakery for more than a few minutes before deciding his food wasn't up to their standards and leaving.

Instead of the usual, "Nothing, just looking around," a heavy French accent reached his ears. "You don't mind if I just sit here and do some work, do you?"

Arthur finally glanced up, raising one of his large eyebrows at the man in front of him. Shoulder-length blonde hair, sparkling blue eyes, a scratchy-looking stubble, and a very sly smile.

Even if he hadn't had spoken, Arthur would have instantly known this man was French. Everything about him screamed French.

He didn't really have a fondness for the French (he wasn't ever certain why, he just attributed it to the fact that he was as British as one could get), but he knew better than to irritate a customer. They'd complain and whine and bitch until they either got fed up and left or he gave them what they wanted. The latter didn't happen quite as often, though.

Concentrating on the matter at hand, Arthur rested his book on the counter, right above the glass display case. "You're not here to buy anything?" he asked. "Nothing whatsoever interests you?"

The Frenchman hummed a little noise in response, glancing down at the cakes and pastries that Arthur was currently showing off. "I think I'll skip out on eating anything, actually. You see, I only dine on fine cuisine."

_Bloody Frenchie,_ Arthur thought angrily, narrowing his eyes. "Then, if you're not here to buy anything, I'd suggest you leave. Door's right over there. Have a _lovely_ day." He snatched up his book, currently fuming. That man had no right to complain about the quality of his food! He hadn't even tasted any of it! Besides, what type of person would just come right out and say such a thing? _Insensitive twats, that's who._

The young Briton heard a cough and glanced right back up, surprised that the man had not yet left. "I apologize for being so rude," the Frenchman stated, shifting the tote bag he was carrying on his shoulder. "I didn't mean it. I just happen to be rather blunt sometimes."

Not sure whether or not to believe him, Arthur just stared. "Why do you want to do your work at my shop, anyway?"

With a wide gesture of his arms, the man smirked. "Why, there's no one here to bother me!"

It wasn't meant to be an insult, Arthur knew that much, but he still took it as one. "Do as you please," he growled, red in the face and averting his eyes back down to his book.

The Frenchman didn't seem to realize how Arthur felt about what he had just said. "Really?" His face brightened considerably, which wasn't saying a lot, actually, since it already seemed bright enough. "_Merci!_ I'll be silent, have no worries! As a matter of fact, you won't even notice I'm here." With a chuckle, the man picked out a seat furthest from the door and began rummaging through his bag. Arthur glared over at him for a few seconds, praying he'd keep to that promise.

* * *

The next day, Arthur caught sight of the same man walking through the doors. He inwardly groaned as the Frenchie approached him. "_Bonjour!_ It's a fine day, isn't it?"

Arthur wrinkled his nose. "It's raining," he pointed out.

"_Oui_, but it's just a drizzle. Besides, aren't the British used to rain? Surely it must be lovely because it isn't a downpour."

This earned him a very irritated stare. "If you've come to poke fun at me, just leave," Arthur growled between his gritted teeth. He really struggled at this sometimes. There was nothing he wanted to do more than to lash out at his customers, especially this one. His insults always found their way under his skin, and he hated that. _Why does he have such a negative effect on me? Is it simply because of his jabs?_ Maybe it was just French people in general.

The man grinned. It was a mocking grin, one that Arthur despised above all others. "I wouldn't dream of poking fun at you, _monsieur_. I shall just sit and keep quiet, as I did yesterday. That's fine, correct?"

If the man had bothered him yesterday, Arthur believed he would have every right to kick him out. However, he was silent, just as he had said he'd be. For that reason, Arthur couldn't very well shoo off a potential customer. He'd have to grin and bear it. Minus the grinning, of course. "If you're certain you don't want something..." He motioned to the tarts he had just recently baked.

The man took one look and grimaced. "Ah, I'd rather not," he replied.

As he took the same seat from the day before, Arthur huffed and placed his arms across his chest. _Well. At least he's trying to be more considerate than he was being yesterday._

The day dragged on, and Arthur only received one customer who actually bought anything. That little amount of money he held in his hand made him sigh. He had been looking over his profits from the last month, only to find that he'd been losing much more money than he had been making. _If this keeps up, I don't know what to do._ He pushed the paper aside, sipping at the tea he had on hand.

"Is something the matter?"

Arthur's head shot up at the voice, spilling tea all down his front. He hadn't realized the Frenchman was still there. "Wh-What the hell was that for?" he sputtered, grabbing a napkin and dabbing at his sweater vest.

"What was what for?"

"Suddenly speaking like that, of course!" Arthur gave up trying to get the stain out and threw his napkin down. "What are you still doing here, anyway?"

Blinking, the man looked down at his wristwatch. "My. It is rather late, isn't it?" He stuffed his 'work' (which Arthur had come to realize was just a sketchbook) into his bag and stood. "My apologies for scaring you," he said. "I was just curious as to why you look so upset."

Arthur hadn't noticed that he was sighing and grumbling to himself out loud. His face heated up in utter embarrassment as he turned away to clean up the rest of the spilled tea. "None of your business," he snapped.

The man stood there for a few more seconds, his eyes boring into Arthur's back. "Do you need any help?"

"No. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some important matters to attend to." Finishing his cleaning task, he sat back down on his stool, looking over the papers once more and making it perfectly clear that he had no wish to speak anymore.

Luckily, the Frenchman seemed to take the hint. "Well, I'll probably be back tomorrow. _Au revoir_." He left quickly, casting a glance Arthur's way as he did so.

* * *

He kept to his word and returned the next day. And the day after that. And the day after that. Finally, after his third week of visiting, Arthur came to the conclusion that they would be seeing a lot of each other each day.

Unfortunately, this also meant that the Frenchman would attempt to start up an interesting conversation each and every day. "How long ago did you start this business?" he asked, watching as Arthur dumped his latest batch of scones into the garbage, waving smoke away from the oven.

"Half a year," the Briton mumbled angrily, staring down at his ruined food.

There was the sound of an eraser brushing against paper before the man spoke once more. "Have you done well?"

Arthur groaned. "No, dammit, thanks for reminding me." He settled down in his stool, burying his head into the palm of his hand. "Sometimes I wonder why I even bother keeping this place open. I obviously don't make any money. In fact, I believe I spend more than I make." He hated admitting that, but the Frenchman seemed genuinely curious about everything. Besides, it felt rather nice to finally rant to someone.

"Why did you open it in the first place, then?"

This took some thought. Arthur knew that it was slight pressure from his brothers, all of whom had opened their own shops and led successful careers. Originally, Arthur was ready to become an author, but having an entire family full of businessmen made it nearly impossible. He was more or less forced into opening his own shop and he decided upon a bakery, believing himself to be a good cook, since he was the best in his family. "Well, my family is made up of people who have all started shops, and..." And, what? He didn't _have_ to open this shop, he reminded himself, but the amount of pressure placed upon him by his father led to this failing store. "I'm not sure. I suppose I just wanted to make my father proud of me."

When he looked up, the man's gaze was resting on him. "I suspect he was proud when you created it, wasn't he?"

"He was," Arthur agreed with a nod. "I don't think he is now, though. My brothers have been making very lovely profits for the pass few years. I, on the other hand..." He gestured around the empty shop, giving a bitter laugh. "You see how it is."

For once, the Frenchman looked serious. He set his sketchbook down on the table, staring Arthur straight in the eyes. "Why not quit, then?"

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me well enough, _monsieur. _I refuse to believe that this was your dream. Your real dream is elsewhere."

Arthur snorted. "Failure is not an option, _sir_." He turned back to his ruined scones. "Besides, my family thinks my dream is foolish."

"And, what would that dream be?"

As usual, Arthur felt as if he had already talked too much. "It isn't any of your concern, honestly. Besides, I've already been much too open to you with my life than I should have been." He narrowed his green eyes. "You haven't told me a single thing about yourself."

The man smiled. "Oh, I'm deeply sorry. I wasn't aware that you had to know anything about your customers personal lives."

Arthur's eyebrow twitched. "And I wasn't aware you wanted to interrogate me on _my_ personal life."

"Well, you didn't have to answer." The Frenchman gave a satisfied smirk before picking up his sketchbook again. Sadly enough, Arthur couldn't think of anything to say because, he had to reluctantly admit, the stupid Frenchie was right on that. Blushing at his stupidity, Arthur grabbed one of his uneaten cookies and nibbled on it indignantly.

The small bakery grew silent, save for the scratching of the man's pencil and Arthur's chewing. It was so silent that Arthur found himself getting uncomfortable. He hated sitting here with nothing better to do than to watch the Frenchman draw. It grew boring and awkward after a few days, and he actually found himself growing to look forward to the chatter and bickering that always seemed to come when the man paid his shop a visit. Which was every day.

Apparently, the man thought so, too, because without looking up from his sketchbook, he said, "If you wanted to know, by the way, my name is Francis."

Arthur found a smile etch it's way onto his face, though he hid it cleverly by taking a large bite of his blackened cookie. "I didn't ask."

"But, you still wanted my name, _oui_?" Francis smirked, brushing some eraser shavings onto the floor. "Now you may refrain from calling me, 'that bloody Frenchie'."

"I rather liked calling you that, actually." Arthur ran his fingers through his choppy, blonde hair, contemplating what he should do next. It was a simple decision, though. "And, so you cease calling me '_monsieur_' constantly, my name is Arthur."

Francis looked smug as his eyes found Arthur's once more, a sly look amongst his features. "_Bonjour, monsieur _Arthur."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Git."

* * *

**Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy this!  
**

**Also...if you also ship USUK, I'm doing a collab with the fanfic writer _Tall on the Inside_. It'll be awesome. If you wanna read it, she's in my favorite's list. Go, go, go!  
**

**Also, I'm a lady of Sealand. No joke. Totally have the deed now and everything. It's pretty awesome. I might put a link up in my profile later.  
**

**Please leave a review!  
**


	2. Chapter 2

**I was about to fall asleep, and then I realized I should probably stick to my schedule of 'once a week' for this here story. Enjoy. :D**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.  
**

* * *

After exchanging names, Francis took it upon himself to get closer to Arthur. He was there every day, rain or shine, and would now position himself at a table right beside the counter, where he would talk to the young Englishman rather than doing his supposed work. Really, Arthur would have been suspicious, were he not slightly flustered at the Frenchman's sudden wish to be even closer. He never really had anyone this interested in him before. Friendships weren't common during his time in school, other than one romantic relationship, and he hadn't bothered himself with such, even in his later years. Yet Francis gave every indication possible that he wanted to be Arthur's best friend.

"What do you do, anyway?" Arthur had asked one day, stirring his tea and glancing at the door in hopes of receiving a customer.

Francis, who hadn't taken out his sketchbook in a week, looked surprised at such a question. "_Excusez-moi_?"

Resisting the urge to groan at the stupid Frog's language, Arthur repeated his question. "What do you do for a living? I see you drawing constantly in that thing, yet I haven't ever actually seen what it is you draw." He kept on stirring his tea, telling himself that he'd stop once someone ordered something.

"Ah, well...just small little pieces of artwork here and there," Francis stammered, a smile coming onto his face as he looked over at Arthur. "It's more so for my own personal enjoyment."

Arthur sadly realized that, if he were to wait to drink his tea, he'd never drink it. Taking a sip, he replied, "I thought it was your work or something."

Francis laughed. "_Non, non_!" He waved Arthur's statement away with a flourish hand movement. "This isn't my work."

"What is, then?"

Francis blinked, so Arthur decided to try his question again. "What's your bloody job, Francis? You know mine, and you know why I'm in this business, more or less. Considering the massive amount you seem to know about me, I'd like to learn at least _this_ about yourself." Suddenly thinking he was being too forward or pushy, Arthur went back over his words. "I-I mean, I only want to know because I'm c-curious. I'm not really concerned, actually, about what you do, so don't go thinking you have to tell me your whole life story."

It was silent for a few seconds, and the Frenchman seemed to be considering what he was going to say. When he finally spoke again, his voice was quiet and lacked the usual charm, which caused a nervous knot to form in Arthur's stomach. "Promise you won't laugh, Arthur?"

Narrowing his gaze, Arthur gave a sharp nod. "I promise."

Francis sighed before answering. "I lost my job the day before I met you for the first time," he muttered, playing around with his glass of water (the only thing he would accept from Arthur). "I wasn't good enough, they told me, so I was fired. I only came here to find a quiet space to draw, to...to be alone with my thoughts for a while." He smiled sadly. "It was actually quite devastating, as you can imagine."

Arthur didn't want to bring pity onto his face, so he looked back down at his teacup. "I most certainly can imagine," he agreed, unable to help the sudden guilt he had over badgering Francis so much. "If you, er, don't mind me asking, how are you getting by?" Because, no, he wasn't concerned, just a tad curious.

"How are _you_ getting by, _monsieur_ Kirkland," Francis countered, that usual smirk coming back to his face.

The Englishman actually let himself smile back, if only for a brief second. "Touche," he said, leaning back on his chair (only _his_ bakery would have a chair right behind the counter, which he knew was slightly pathetic).

Francis put a hand to his chest. "My, but are you speaking French?"

Realizing his mistake (Arthur Kirkland made it a point to converse fully in English, and perhaps some Latin phrases when in the mood), the Briton blushed red and quickly hid his face. "Shut up. It's merely a common saying that slipped out of my mouth just this once." He swore to himself that it would never happen again, at least not around the Frog. "Anyway, are you planning on finding a new job?"

The smirk disappearing, Francis glanced back down at the table. "I'm not sure. Most people actually don't want to hire me. I can only assume it's because of my...hm, what's the word you've used before?- 'Frenchieness'." With a bitter chuckle, Francis flipped his golden-blonde locks dramatically. "However, I tried telling them that the French only create the best of everything, which was probably what sent them into little fits of rage."

"Fits of rage?" Arthur's tone was doubtful. "I wouldn't think that an employer would-"

"I could see the fits of rage in their eyes," Francis quickly interrupted, now fully focusing on the table, as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.

Arthur simply nodded as if it all made sense. "Oh. Of course, Francis. In their eyes." He snorted quietly, looking over at his burnt, crumpled pastries and realized how similar of positions Francis and he were in. Both were failures at what they did, both used a form of escape (for Francis it was art, for Arthur it was literature), and both needed money.

"Hey, Frog?" Arthur suddenly called out, standing from his seat.

Francis looked up, having long since been used to Arthur's lovely nickname for him. "_Oui_?"

Horribly ashamed of what he was about to ask, Arthur squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fists by his side, knowing it was now or never. He had to make his bakery great, and if Francis could help, then so be it. "Can you cook well?"

Francis regarded him with a curious expression, and Arthur nearly fell to the ground as he felt Francis' eyes searching throughout the deepest depths of his heart. Oh, dear lord, the Frenchie was going to make fun of him, everyone would know he asked for help, they'd laugh and laugh and he'd have to close down the shop and return home to parents who would be disappointed, who wouldn't help him with payments, and he'd lose his house and-

"I consider myself an excellent cook, Arthur. Why?"

Arthur swallowed, relieved that Francis hadn't said anything. Well, yet. "I...I was j-just wondering if you'd like to work with me." Was his mouth supposed to be this dry? And, where was all his tea? Did he really drink it all in such a short time span? "W-We'd split half the profits, and...and we might get this place up and running again."

There. He said it. Now he awaited the laughter to ring in his ears, Francis' stupid, terrible, gorg- _You are _not _finishing that sentence,_ Arthur waned himself, turning even more red and sipping the nonexistent tea.

When he glanced up for a quick look at Francis' face, he noted that it was one of shock rather than evil intentions. "Wh-Why, that would..." The Frenchman seemed at a loss of words for once, and he began fiddling with his hair, a pink blush spreading over his face. "I...I would like that, Arthur." He smiled, a lovely smile without contempt or humor. Just a simple, beautiful smile.

Arthur cursed himself inwardly. _Since when do you call his Froggy smile beautiful, Arthur Kirkland?_ he scolded himself, scowling over at Francis. "D-Don't get the wrong idea, now. I could honestly care less about whether or not you have a job. I-I'm doing this for myself, you hear?"

"I hear." Francis was now grinning, and Arthur couldn't help but admit how that grin just brightened the room, how it made his heart beat faster. _Wait...what? Arthur, you twat, quit thinking such nonsense!_

"G-Good. You, uh...you start tomorrow. Bright and early." He ran his hand up and down the back of his neck, trying to figure out how exactly to ready the place. "You can cook, and...I'll do whatever else needs to be done."

Apparently, though, Francis wasn't going to wait until tomorrow to start. He stood from his spot, an appraising gaze surveying the room. "You'll be a waiter," he decided, walking over to Arthur, though he didn't look at him.

"Wha-"

"I was going to say we fix the place up a tad, perhaps some new tables, but the more I look at it, the more I realize it seems nice the way it is." He patted Arthur's hand, finally glancing over at him. "At least you did that much right."

Arthur wasn't dense- he knew an insult when he heard one. However, he couldn't say much of anything, due to the flustered state he became in when Francis touched him. "W-Well, I...yes, it..." Quickly, he pulled is hand away, but, to his great fortune, Francis didn't seem to notice his behavior.

"I have an outfit for you at my house," the Frenchman continued, looking Arthur over. "I believe it will fit. We're about the same size. Of course, I am a little taller than you, so this could be almost like a trial run, _non_?"

Arthur could only stare as Francis started talking about foods, drinks, and whatever else he was trying to tell Arthur because, frankly, Arthur couldn't understand French all that well. And, oddly enough, Francis seemed to have slipped into a 'French-speaking mode'. He finally felt he should intervene when Francis threw away one of his scones. "Wait, what the bloody hell are you saying, Frog?"

Francis also noticed that he was speaking in French and quickly laughed it off. "Sorry. I forgot you couldn't understand me. When I get excited, though, I found myself speaking my own language." He glanced down at the scones. "I was saying that we're going to scrap the entire menu."

If this wasn't enough to send a burst of outrage surging through Arthur's body, he didn't know what was. "Excuse me?"

"I said we're going to-"

"I heard what you said, git!" Arthur crossed his arms over his chest, narrowing his green eyes. "Do you realize just how long it took me to complete that menu? I take pride and each and everything I placed on there, Francis. You can't just _scrap_ all of my work like that!"

Francis glanced over at the failed cakes that were currently on display. "Then, I'll scrap just a bit of the menu. But, honestly, dear Arthur, people just won't buy items such as this." He picked up one of the rock-hard scones, raising his perfectly-arched eyebrows. "Would you expect a cook to give you this?"

Feeling Francis' comment as a slap to the face, Arthur gritted his teeth. "I tried my best, Francis."

"I'm not saying you didn't. I just don't believe cooking is your forte." He gave a soft smile, almost as if he were apologizing for what he said. "Now, I'll come up with the menu tonight at my house. We'll both meet here at, hm...five in the morning?"

"Five?" Arthur's eyes widened. "That's complete bullocks! Why?"

Francis laughed, face lined with amusement. "Arthur, we have to prepare! I'll have many things to cook, and you'll have to help clean this place up just a little bit. For example, we might have to throw all the current pastries and baked goods away."

Though Arthur hated that suggestion, he knew they would. Besides, it wasn't as if anyone bought them in the first place. Arthur _always_ threw them away anyway, so it made sense to him. "Right." He nodded, giving a sigh. "I'll also wipe down the tables a bit, to make them look nicer. I do believe some of them might be collecting dust." Ignoring Francis' snort, he glanced around the room. "Anything else?"

"_Non_," Francis replied. "Well, nothing I can think of at the moment. I suppose we'll just play it by ear, _oui_?"

"Mm." Arthur ran his fingers through his messy, blonde hair. "Well, in that case, I suppose we'd both better head our separate ways. You have work to do for the menu, and I have to start looking at the economical aspect of this arrangement." He hoped they would make enough money to each live comfortably. Otherwise, this would be nothing more than a failure to both men, and they'd probably wind up homeless somewhere. He shook that thought away, reminding himself that Francis was smart, probably a good cook, and certainly charming to other people.

"You are correct, Arthur." Francis went back to his table and gathered his things, looking much more pleased than he did when he first entered the shop. "I'll be seeing you tomorrow."

Arthur watched him leave, still weighing his options, and deciding that having the Frenchman on his team probably wasn't such a bad idea.

* * *

**And now I shall flounce off to bed because I'm about to fall asleep right here. Yawns. Leave a review, guys! Helps me update quicker.  
**

**Plus...more reviews might actually make me write the last chapter? Ha? I haven't even started on it. Should probably get on that. _And reviews shall help me, mwahaha, so review!_**


	3. Chapter 3

**Screw updating once a week.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.  
**

* * *

Though Arthur was a man who liked to be punctual, he found mornings unforgiving. No matter how many times he splashed water across his face, there was no way he would ever be fully awake, at least not until a few hours later. So when he arrived at the bakery, the perky Francis, who was obviously a morning fellow, seemed to notice his exhaustion. "Why, Arthur, you must lighten up!" he had exclaimed, pulling out his toque and putting it on over his head. "This is the day when people will actually start to buy something! I already posted a notice at your window. Everything is half off today."

"Half off?" Arthur grabbed a rag and spray, beginning to clean off the tables, though they were already clean enough. Still, he needed to do something or else he risked falling over for a nap.

Francis, still pulling things out of his bag, nodded excitedly. "I figured that would catch the eyes of all hungry people walking to work. Once they taste my delicious cooking and once they know your incredible hospitality-" Arthur snorted at this. "-they'll always come back for more." He hummed, a smile on his face. "I actually have an idea. We'll be serving tiny lunches- a sandwich or something similar, nothing too fancy. These, I'll cook completely fresh, just for them, and you can serve it to them. I even brought that outfit, and I do believe it'll look lovely on you."

Once he found the waiter's uniform and showed it to the half-asleep Brit, Arthur found that maybe Francis had a few brilliant ideas every so often. The clothing did indeed look spiffy, and Arthur found he might be able to be charming when he wanted to be. He was no Francis, now, but it wouldn't hurt to try bringing on a smile and a polite voice, would it?

As Francis predicted, the promise of cheaper prices brought people flooding in, grabbing a quick pastry or bagel before running off to work. Very few actually stayed for more than a minute or two, and those that did were far too engrossed in their newspaper or laptop to pay any attention to Arthur.

"Francis?" Arthur leaned over the counter, a scowl on his face. "I feel useless. People keep staring at me, for all I'm doing is standing here like a statue."

Looking back from his baking, Francis just shot his companion a soft smile. "Why not stand by the door to welcome people in? You have a beautiful smile, you know."

This caused Arthur to turn bright red. "I-I do not!" he sputtered, gripping the edge of the counter until his knuckles turned white. "And, furthermore, that's an absolutely ludicrous thing to say. I'd feel like I'm some sort of damn spectacle, or one of those men who dance out on the street as a way of advertisement."

Francis chuckled, bringing in a tray of what looked to be muffins. "Arthur, you do have a beautiful smile. It's one of the rare sorts, the type people will only see once in a blue moon. I, myself, have only caught sight of it once, I believe, but it was still a very lovely smile."

If possible, Arthur turned even more red, gritting his teeth. "F-Flattering me won't help you one bit," he hissed, wondering why he was becoming so worked up over a simple statement. "I-I'm not going to stand at the door and w-welcome customers, not even if you say I have a...a nice smile."

"How about if I say you have a nice ass?" Francis asked, placing the muffins on display.

"Piss off," Arthur whispered, feeling very much embarrassed and flustered and not himself. He was about to leave to pout in a back corner when Francis pointed at the cash register.

"Why don't you run the register for me, then?" the Frenchman asked, looking overly amused at Arthur's current state. "I'm busy making the displays look nice, and I actually have many more items to bake."

Though he really didn't want to be near Francis, not after those declarations, Arthur really didn't have much of a choice. It was either that or hover around and make his customers nervous. "Fine," he grumbled, stepping up the the register and straightening his bow tie. "J-Just...don't say embarrassing things like that anymore, you hear?"

Francis chuckled, straightening up. "But you look so funny when I say them!" When Arthur opened his mouth to complain some more, Francis shook his head. "_Oui, oui_, no more awkward sayings. Have no fear, I completely understand." He blew Arthur a kiss and strode to the back, humming some song under his breath.

Arthur took orders and collected money, all the while wondering how he was to be expected to work with Francis for...well, for as long as he could work, actually. If he was being so completely infuriating on their very first day, causing Arthur to sputter and flush, then how would they work together for the rest of the week? The month? The year and those to come? Arthur swallowed the lump in his throat. He couldn't very well quit, though. This was his only income and he had to do well. Besides, maybe, as a side job, he could become an author.

With his dreams in mind, Arthur made a little more effort to smile as people walked in, to laugh and converse as customers waited for their orders. He wasn't going to fail- he was going to do a bloody good job at this! He would ignore Francis' taunting and become the best cashier there ever was!

Until, that is, lunch rolled around. "You're doing an excellent job, Arthur," Francis said as he walked towards the younger man. "Why, I didn't expect you to be so cheerful to everyone, at least not today!"

Arthur sniffed, highly offended. "I'm a Kirkland. Kirkland's do whatever they set their mind to!" Yet, he had his mind set on writing, didn't he? So much for that.

Francis smiled. "Do they? Well, I have to admit that you've done more than I had in mind. Now, considering it's lunch time, I believe I'll take over."

"Hm? Why?" Arthur moved aside, a tad bit curious.

"Didn't I tell you? This is when people can order sandwiches or other small delicacies like it. And you'll be the one delivering these sandwiches. There's no need to make such lovely young people stand at the counter like they do at those ridiculous fast-food restaurants."

Arthur couldn't very well argue with that. Francis had a point. Except for one thing. "You're going to man the register _and_ make the sandwiches? Sounds brilliant, Francis."

Realizing his blunder, Francis gave a nervous chuckle. "Ah, well...I must not have thought this one through."

"Obviously not." Arthur nudged Francis aside. "It'll only take me a few seconds to deliver the lunch items to the customers. I'll work as the cashier still and, when you finish an order, quickly take it to whoever bought it."

Francis blinked. "My, but you have some wonderful ideas every so often, don't you?"

"Hardly an idea. Any fool could have seen that my way would work better than yours." Arthur scowled as he looked away from Francis' appraising, blue eyes. "Besides, you're too excited about this whole ordeal to actually think things through."

"That's what you're here for, _monsieur_," Francis teased, moving to go to the back to the kitchen once more. "I certainly am glad I chose to work with you."

* * *

Lunch was going smoothly and people seemed to enjoy the new setup. Arthur never stayed long at the tables, though he did answer a few questions about their menu or drinks or weather or whatever else it was that the customers had to say. Only one conversation stayed with him throughout the rest of the day, though.

"Here is your sandwich, ladies," he said in the most elegant voice he could possibly muster, laying the tray he was holding down on the table. "Please enjoy."

One of the young women giggled. "Er...sir? What's the cook's name?" She pointed a finely manicured finger over toward Francis, who was setting out more croissants on one of their little display stands.

Arthur's stomach churned a tad, though he didn't know the reason why. "That's, uh, Francis. He's-"

"Francis?" The girl smiled, her eyes staring straight at the Frenchman. "Hey, do you know if he's dating anyone?" The other girls at the table also began giggling, glancing over at the chef.

Arthur's gaze darted about nervously, from Francis and back to the girls. "Y-Yes," he blurted out, quite red in the face. "He is, as a matter of fact. N-Now if you'll excuse me, I must get back to work." He ignored the collective groan of dismay from the group of girls and stomped back to the cash register, cursing himself inwardly. Why did he even say that? It's not as if he cared who Francis dated, was it? The man could do what he wanted. Why, he probably had a whole line of girls after him! Again, not that it mattered to Arthur in anyway. He just didn't want customers flirting with the cook, that was all.

"Is something the matter, Arthur?" Francis asked, looking up from his lovely decorating.

Sighing, Arthur shook his head. "N-No. Nothing. Don't worry about it."

It must have been in Francis' personality to worry, though, for his eyes narrowed. "You seem riled up."

"I'm not."

"Something _must_ have happened."

"I told you, leave it be."

But Francis wouldn't leave it be, not at all. He scanned the room before finally noticing the girls that kept shooting the two men glances. "Did they say something to you?"

Arthur's head shot up. "Wh-What? No, of course not!"

"You just got back from serving them. They must have."

Arthur gritted his teeth. "Francis, just quit. I'm fine, they're fine, we're all fine." He quickly looked away, feeling his face turn red. "I appreciate your concern, but I assure you that nothing is wrong."

Something in his tone must have finally warned Francis to drop it, for he did. "They're beautiful girls," he commented, leaning closer to Arthur while still keeping his eyes on that table. "Aren't they?"

This was a conversation Arthur would rather not be having at the moment. "O-Of course they're not," he muttered, stumbling over his words as he refused to make eye contact with the annoying Frenchman. "They just look nor-normal." He had no idea as to why he was becoming so hot and bothered all of a sudden. At least he could place all the blame on Francis, for saying such ridiculous things with the knowledge that Arthur would react in such a way.

Francis smirked. "Whatever you say, Arthur." Without any more pushing on the subject matter, Francis left to the kitchen again, letting Arthur continue to stand there and wonder just what exactly had gone wrong.

* * *

The rest of the week was just as successful, if not more, than their first day had been. Mentally, Arthur was cheering and he was certain Francis caught him smiling more than once when he would finally close up the register for the evening. "We're not doing too poorly," he said as they looked over their budget. "The sales have shot up immensely."

Francis seemed excited, too, as he noticed the amount of money that was rolling in. "If we keep this up, we'll have enough money to hire more workers," he exclaimed. "That way, we won't have to work from morning until night."

"Wanker, we only work until five," Arthur grumbled, though his lips seemed to be turning up at the corners. "But, yes, perhaps in the near future we can employ an extra worker or two. It should be quite beneficial to the business, don't you think?"

The Frenchman laughed. "_Oui_," he said. "That's why I brought it up." With a yawn, he leaned back in his chair, that luscious blond hair falling in ripples across his face. Arthur resisted the urge to stare. Not because he liked Francis' hair or anything. No, it just annoyed him, that was all, and maybe if he stared long enough at it, Francis would get the hint.

The tips of his ears turned red as he pointedly stared at his papers, not at Francis' hair, and definitely not at his face. "I don't think I've ever made this much money in a week," he muttered, running his fingers through his own choppy hair. "I'm still slightly shocked."

With a chuckle, Francis replied, "That is to be expected, _mon ami_. I'm pleased that your business is looking up." He reached over to take the paper from Arthur's hands.

"_Our _business," Arthur corrected, his hand brushing against Francis' as the elder made a move to snatch the budget sheet away. Rather than moving his hand, though, Arthur kept it there, silence filling the room. Francis didn't move either, their hands just barely making contact with each other. Barely, but even barely was enough to send shivers down Arthur's arm.

When a few seconds had passed, Arthur glanced up, his green eyes finding Francis' blue ones. The Frenchman was calmly staring at Arthur, something hidden behind those beautiful eyes. Arthur, however, was certain that fear and surprise were both clearly evident on his own face.

"I-I have to go," he stammered, his voice no more than a whisper. Francis drew back and, suddenly, sound and time came back to Arthur, hitting him dead in the face. "I have to go." He spoke louder, then cleared his throat, looking away from Francis. "W-We should probably rest up this weekend. W-We'll keep the bakery closed, and...and meet up Monday, right?"

Francis folded the paper. "Of course," he responded, acting as if nothing at all had happened. "I'll call you if I need anything."

Arthur nodded quickly, wanting nothing more than to escape this room. He was horribly confused and his emotions were jumbled about. He just needed to be alone for a while, to sort everything out and to breathe. "Y-Yes, you do that. Well, it's...it's been lovely. I'll speak with you sooner or later." With that, the Englishman left the room as fast as he could, making his way outdoors and into the evening sun.

Bloody hell, what was wrong with him?

* * *

**Two more chapters after this one. Thank you for all the reviews/favorites/follows! It really warms my heart to know people enjoy reading my stories. =D  
**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.**

* * *

Somehow, someway, Arthur was able to return the following week and face Francis like a man. Of course, Francis didn't seem to remember the incident or, if he did, he simply chose not to mention it. For this Arthur was grateful. He wasn't in the mood to try and explain himself since even he didn't know exactly what had happened.

He put it in the back of his mind and focused solely on getting his bakery to it's feet, which was actually going very well. Though Francis needed help in running the business, he was certainly the one who was drawing the customers in.

Very soon, Arthur had more money then he ever made running his bakery. "I didn't expect everything to go so well," he commented a few weeks after the bakery had been changed as he and Francis sat in the back room counting their money. "I was hoping for a few extra dollars to make ends meet, yes, but this is..."

He couldn't quite find the right words, but Francis knew what he meant. "It is fabulous, yes?" The Frenchman smiled brightly. "I suppose you're having fun now, what with all this money we're earning."

Arthur snorted. "Aside from the fact that you won't let me cook even one item on the menu-" he ignored Francis' chuckle. "-yes, I guess this is slightly fun." He narrowed his eyes. "Not because you're here, though. Why, if I was this good at running a bakery by myself, I would be perfectly fine without your help."

"So, you wish for me to leave?"

"I never said that, Frog." Arthur scribbled down some notes on a spare sheet of paper, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "I said I'm rubbish at doing this by myself. Your help is somewhat appreciated."

"Somewhat?"

Arthur sighed, setting his pen down. "Look, I'm not going to serenade you, if that's what you're looking for. I just gave you a bloody compliment. Quit fishing for more."

Francis smirked. "You're much too easy to tease, Arthur. You shouldn't let everything I say get to you this much."

"Nothing is 'getting to me'," Arthur snapped. "I'm just a little tired, that's all."

He wasn't used to the bakery being so busy. He was usually able to sit down for an entire workday, just himself and a book. Now Francis had shown up and Arthur was suddenly running to and fro, trying to make sure his customers were pleased and that the shop was running smoothly. Not that he was complaining. He was so pleased to have this job now, a job where he could actually earn a profit.

That still didn't change the fact that he was tense, what with the new tasks and sudden income. He hadn't really had a chance to relax much, either. He had been focusing only on what he could possibly do to make Kirkland's Bakery even better.

Francis was the one who usually came up with ideas, though.

Francis hummed a little tune, then reached over and squeezed Arthur's shoulder. "My, but aren't you as stiff as a board? Why don't we go grab a little something to eat later on this weekend?"

The Briton glanced over at his friend. "Wh-What? You mean, l-like a date?"

The laugh came instantly. "_Non, non_, of course not! If you'd like to view it as such, go right on ahead, but I was simply asking you as friends."

"Oh." Strangely enough, Arthur felt a slight jolt of disappointment. He quickly shook it off. "Well, I...I suppose it won't be too rotten to hang out with you over the weekend."

Francis sighed dramatically. "Thank you. What kind words. I'm glad you're looking forward to it." He stood. "I'll pick you up at six-thirty tomorrow evening. Does that sound alright with you?"

"Fine, fine. Where are we going?"

"And that-" Francis winked. "-shall be a surprise."

* * *

It didn't really hit Arthur until much later that Francis had said, "I'll _pick you up_." That was something that the men usually said whenever it was an actual date. He instantly began fretting the next day over his appearance.

"I know he said it wasn't a date, but I can't help feeling as if I should look my best," he explained to his cat, who looked up at him with lazy eyes. "I mean, how the bloody hell am I supposed to go out with Francis while looking like a...a...a _hobo_." The cat blinked and Arthur's eyes widened, a blush spreading across his cheeks. "N-Not that I'm going _out_ with him in that way. I just worded it wrong. Oh, lord, what's wrong with me?"

The young Briton gave a sigh, trying to gain his composure. "Right. Okay. Well, I should be fine. No, I _will_ be fine. We're just two friends going out to eat a simple dinner, that's all." He began running a comb through his wet hair, trying to get it to actually stay flat for once. It wasn't working.

"Do you think it would have been, er, less...awkward if we went out for lunch?" he asked his cat, looking at the creature in the mirror. "I can't help but feel that I would have been more comfortable during a lunch date. _Not_ a date like that, Crumpet, please don't misunderstand me."

The cat merely yawned.

"Usually, though, romantic dates are reserved for dinners only. Haven't you ever seen those ridiculous chick-flicks?" He snorted. "They go out to eat during dinner, and then they either stare into each others eyes or get into a fight. I do hope my date doesn't turn out to be something like that. I've no wish to fight my co-worker and, while he might have very...er...interesting eyes-" _not lovely_, his mind told him, "-I don't think he would appreciate it if I stared into them with a loving gaze."

Crumpet flicked his tail, looking away from his owner.

"Although he does seem into that sort of romantic rubbish, doesn't he? Oh, what am I saying?" Arthur adjusted the towel on his waist, glaring at his hair. "This won't stay down and I'm acting like a bloody teenaged girl." He took a deep breath, giving up on ever making his blond locks lay flat. "I just need to calm myself is all. Francis is most certainly not freaking out over something as simple as a dinner date. Even if it isn't exactly a date. Just a dinner between two friends."

After allowing himself another half hour to try on every clothing article he could possibly find in his closet, Arthur sat near his front door, glancing as the clock edged closer and closer to six thirty. He couldn't calm his nerves. He had even made himself a cup of his favorite tea, but that did little to help.

When the doorbell rang, Arthur nearly jumped a foot in the air. _Calm down,_ he scolded himself, putting on his usual scowl. _We're friends. It's not a date. Quit being an idiot._

"_Bonjour_, Arthur," came the greeting from Francis, who was wearing clothing that looked normal enough, at least for him. Arthur felt relieved that he was neither over-dressed or under-dressed.

"Good evening to you, Frog," Arthur replied, stepping outside and locking the door to his house. "Now, where are you taking me?"

"I said it would be a surprise, _mon ami_!" Francis teased, leading Arthur to his car. "I promise you'll enjoy it, though. And I hope you're hungry. I'm paying tonight, so I want you to eat as much as you possibly can."

They both slid into the car, Francis instantly starting it up and Arthur instantly crossing his hands over his chest. "I'm not too sure if I like the idea of you paying for my meal," he mumbled. "What say we split the bill? I'll pay for my half and you'll pay for your half."

However, Francis didn't seem to agree with that. "_Non, non._ I asked you out so I will pay whatever the bill asks for me to pay."

All Arthur really heard from that sentence was, "I asked you out." He hid his blush by staring out the window. "F-Fine. It isn't as if I care that you'll probably be broke by the end of the evening. In fact, if you are broke, I'll just laugh at you."

"Fair enough." Francis chuckled.

* * *

"I have to admit..." Arthur sipped at his wine, looking around the restaurant. "You chose a fine place."

"As I always do."

"Stuff it." The Briton brought his gaze back to his French companion, green eyes narrowed.

They were sitting at a booth of some Italian diner. Arthur had been hoping for Francis to chose an authentic British restaurant, all the while praying that he didn't chose one of the overly-priced French places. Italian food, though, earned no argument from either man.

Silence fell upon their table as Francis actually listened to Arthur for once.

And Arthur found it uncomfortable.

"How did you find this place?" he asked, glancing down at his manicotti. "I don't think I've ever heard of it."

Francis seemed more than please to help break the silence. "One of my friends, Antonio, has a girlfriend who used to work here. Antonio would drag me along with him every so often to visit his girlfriend, and I came to really enjoy the food they served."

"Does she work here anymore?"

"Who?"

"His girlfriend, you dolt."

"Oh. No. She was fired after dumping an entire tray on a customer."

Arthur blinked. "She dumped food on one of her customers? Why? Did he upset her in some way?"

Francis laughed, his blue eyes crinkling at the edges. "She knew the man. He was her younger sister's boyfriend. For some strange reason, she always hated him. I believe it was just for the sole fact that, although she didn't like showing it, she was very protective of her little sister." He shook his head, obviously picking through memories. "The poor man wouldn't even be doing anything before she would start screaming at him and calling him rude names. It was always beyond us."

A tad bit jealous about how interesting Francis' life seemed, Arthur began asking more questions, more than comfortable with their light and innocent conversation. "Does your friend...er, Antonio, get angry about that? She seems like quite the irritating woman."

"Antonio isn't really the type to get angry. He's clueless, but he always has a smile on his face. I believe that opposites attract and, well, Antonio and Lovina- that's the girl's name- just sort of prove that fact." He sipped at his wine for a few seconds before continuing. "Same goes for her younger sister. She's the cheerful one, though a bit cowardly and weak compared to Lovina, and she fell for a strong, silent sort of guy. Funny how the world works."

"Hilarious."

Francis smiled at Arthur's sarcasm and leaned forward. "What about yourself? Were you ever attracted to any opposites?"

"Define 'opposites'."

"Don't be such a killjoy, _Monsieur_ Kirkland. You know very well what I mean."

Stuck under Francis' searching gaze, Arthur shifted in his seat. "W-Well...there was...I did have one partner for about a year."

Francis nodded, leaning back. "What was his name?"

This caused Arthur's head to snap up. "Wh-What do you mean 'his'? Why do you instantly assume that I'm...that I'm gay? Honestly, that's completely rude, Francis."

"You are, though, aren't you?" Francis grinned as Arthur finally gave in and nodded. "I know these things, Arthur. It wasn't too difficult for me to tell. Continue."

Worried that he actually really did live up to the stereotypes he had heard his entire life, Arthur tried keeping his blushing down to a minimum. "W-Well...it was during high school. Um. There was this boy named Alfred, and he was just so very different than me that it was strange. He was loud and obnoxious and quite stupid. American."

"Figures."

"Yes. However, everyone wanted to be his friend, simply because he was so _kind_. He never made fun of anyone and he was just the sort of guy you would want to go to for advice. Naturally, that meant I stayed away from him."

"Oh, naturally."

Ignoring that snide remark, Arthur cleared his throat. "But...I have no idea how it happened, but we found ourselves in an empty classroom one day, snogging each others lights out, and we dated for the remainder of high school." Certain that his entire face was red now, Arthur shrugged. "That's it."

Francis rolled his eyes. "That's not it, Arthur. Come on, tell me the rest of the story. Why aren't you two dating anymore?"

Arthur felt flustered, so he began messing around with the utensils at their table, not meeting Francis' gaze. "I don't know. I think he was just sick with me. He was never one for settling down. He wanted to go travel the world and I was wanting to start my business, so...he just broke up with me one day. It was for the best, though. I mean, sure I was devastated at first, but I quickly got over it."

The Frenchman reached over and patted Arthur's hand, which caused Arthur's face to turn even more red, if that was possible. "I'm sorry about that."

"It's over now. What about you?" Arthur drew his hand back, quickly trying to change the subject. "Any significant others in your life?"

"None that lasted for more than a day," Francis quickly responded with a light chuckle.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Thought so."

* * *

Francis pulled up at Arthur's house, smiling at the younger man. "I had a wonderful time. Thanks for going out with me."

Arthur nodded. "S-Sure," he stammered. "Any time." He was about to step out when he realized that he didn't really want the evening to end. He was enjoying himself so much with Francis, and it wasn't too late, so... "Why don't you come inside?"

"_Pardon_?"

"Y-You don't have to if you don't want to!" Arthur climbed out of the car. "It would just be really quick, though. We could watch some telly or just..." Or just what? "Talk some more."

It seemed to take forever for Francis to respond, but he finally cracked another smile. "I'd be delighted."

Arthur was more flustered than before as he opened the door to his house and let Francis come in. He put his keys away and hung up his coat, now not knowing what exactly to say. Should they sit and start watching a show or should Arthur offer him something to drink? Maybe a tour of the house would be nice. No, that was just too much like a retail agent. "Just sit wherever," he finally blurted out, running his fingers through his hair.

Francis sat on the couch, looking around with surprise. "It's a very pretty house," he commented, glancing over at the paintings and pictures lining the walls. "I was expecting something simple and boring but this seems more like an elderly lady's place."

Not sure if he was being complimented or teased (though he was leaning towards the latter), Arthur sat down beside him, switching the television set on. "What would you like to watch?"

"Hm? Oh, anything is fine with me."

So Arthur switched it to some random channel, not paying attention to what was playing. Something about swords, that's all he gathered from it. He was more worried about how he and Francis seemed to be shifting closer and closer together. Was it _he_ who was moving himself, or was Francis simply coming nearer? Maybe it was just his imagination. He decided to go with that.

Until he felt Francis' leg brush up against his own.

Letting out a slight gasp at the sudden contact, Arthur brought his hands up across his chest, feeling more than a little awkward. "Th-There's plenty of room," he muttered.

"And I chose to sit right here." Francis suddenly reached over and grabbed Arthur's chin, making the shorter man stare up into his eyes.

And Arthur finally had to admit to himself that dear _lord_, Francis was gorgeous.

"You don't mind, do you?"

"N-Not...not really," Arthur whispered, bringing his hands down to grab at the fabric of his pants. "I-I mean, if th-this is what you want..." He wasn't sure if he was referring to their positions on the couch or something entirely different.

Francis, however, made it clear as to what they were _both_ referring to. He continued to lean forward until he captured Arthur's lips in his own, and Arthur simply _melted_, he melted and kissed right back, his arms coming right back up to wrap around Francis' neck and pull him closer, wanting to get familiar with his lips.

The Frenchman pushed him back until he was laying right on top of Arthur, drawing back from the kiss ever so slightly to whisper, "This is what I want."

Arthur sure as hell wasn't going to deny him anything.

* * *

**Like I said on my LJ, I don't think a full-out sex scene will work for this story. I WANNA FOCUS ON EMOTIONS, NOT PHYSICAL STUFF, DJHDFKJFJK [that, and I can't write sex scenes, derp XP]. But...yes. One more chapter, my dear audience. One more chapter until we...we finish, I guess. Man, this story really has no, like...cool plot. It's just, "Hai, I own a bakery, let's work together and MAYBE WE CAN MAKE OUT SOME!" The end.  
**

**Anyway, read and review, please! :D And thanks to all of those that are alerting/favoriting/reviewing- it makes me quite pleased!  
**


	5. Chapter 5

**I've nothing more to do here. X'D Last chapter- finally updated!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.  
**

* * *

When Arthur woke, he found himself laying under his covers.

And he was completely naked.

"Oh, bugger," he mumbled, slowly sitting up and wincing from the pain in his lower body.

The night's memories came rushing back to him- heated kisses, stumbling to the bedroom, and, no surprise, sex.

Arthur wanted to die.

"Shit," he whispered, burying his head in the palm of his hands and taking deep breaths. He needed to stay calm. He needed to just stay calm and look over at Francis and ask if they really-

Except Francis was gone. Arthur's head shot up, green eyes wide, as he stared at the empty spot on his bed. The spot where Francis lay as they fell asleep together, curled into each other and feeling at peace with the world.

Well, that's how Arthur had felt, anyway. Apparently, Francis seemed to only be in it for the sex.

Arthur wanted to cry.

But he was stronger than that. He could handle anything, and this was no different. He pushed the covers back, grabbing his clothes that were strewn across the ground, and shuffling to the shower, gritting his teeth and blocking out the moans of pain that he wanted to give.

After a very quick shower, Arthur exited his room, holding the bridge of his nose between his fingers and wondering why on earth he ever thought the stupid Frenchman was treating him special. Francis _did_ admit to having one-night stands. Arthur figured he was just another one. Another one of those people who Francis would sleep with once and never speak to again. How the hell would they work together anymore?

Screw crying. Once more, Arthur wanted to _die_. He felt so humiliated. Why didn't he just stop Francis from sleeping with him? It wouldn't be nearly as awkward as it would be now.

He suddenly stopped, in both his tracks and his thoughts, and listened carefully.

Someone was in his kitchen, humming and making muffled noises.

And something smelled delicious.

He hurried the rest of the way down the hall, trying to ignore the pains in his backside.

Francis was there, cooking and singing softly.

"Uh...wh-what are you doing?" Arthur asked, staring at the Frenchman with wide eyes.

Francis turned around and grinned. "_Bonjour_, Arthur!" he greeted. "I'm making breakfast. Since you can't cook and I don't want to celebrate our first night together with your Lucky Charms, I decided to cook some omelets for us. I do hope you don't mind."

Arthur blinked. Wasn't Francis supposed to be gone by now? Wasn't Arthur supposed to be his one-night stand? "N-No, I don't mind," he replied, walking farther into the kitchen. "Er, so...I suppose we...last night, we-"

"Three times!" Francis exclaimed cheerfully. "And, in case you forgotten, you did top once."

The Briton blushed. "W-Wanker, I know that!" With a huff, he sat down, trying to hide his red cheeks by looking away. "I'm just shocked you haven't run off to find some other handsome devil to shag."

Francis was silent for a second, adding some sort of spice to the omelets. When he spoke, his voice was much more quiet than it had been. "I didn't 'shag' you last night, Arthur. And I'd like to think that you didn't 'shag' me."

"Well, what else would you call those highly compromising positions we were in? Fighting?"

Francis laughed. "You're adorable, _mon ami_. _Non,_ I...I was making love to you, and I assumed you were making love to me." His laughter died down, and he refused to turn away from his eggs to look at Arthur. "It was just a silly idea I had, but I was under the impression that you care for me as much as I care for you."

Oh.

This changed things.

Arthur instantly felt guilty for assuming Francis would do such a thing to him. The guy took him out for dinner. They had been coworkers for some time now, and friends for even longer (though the term 'friends' could use some defining). No, Francis might have been a flirtatious man, but even _he_ wouldn't ruin Arthur's life by doing this.

And...they made love? Arthur blushed again. It wasn't just shagging. They didn't just have sex. No, they _made love_. Francis made love to him..._and I made love to Francis,_ Arthur thought, the sudden realization bringing a smile to his face.

"Yes, I...I believe you were under the correct impression," he muttered, gazing down at his hands in his lap. "I'm sorry for instantly coming to an assumption about you."

"Apology accepted," Francis said, turning around with two plates of eggs. "And you are more then forgiven, Arthur." He sat down beside the Englishman, passing him one of the plates. "I _did_ tell you I only ever had one-night stands, didn't I?'

Arthur nodded, grabbing a fork and cutting into the omelet. "You did," he agreed. "But, still..." After all the care that Francis had shown, Arthur felt silly for believing he would leave right after their wonderful night.

Francis shrugged. "Shall we just put it out of our minds?" he asked. "We can focus more on our future now."

Arthur nearly spit out the egg he was chewing (but kept from doing so because it seemed his taste buds weren't quite ready to let go of something so delicious). "F-Future?" he repeated after swallowing. "What do you mean by that?" He wondered if it meant that Francis was planning on staying with him for a while.

"I mean...if two people make love, it's a given that they _are_ in love, _oui?_"

Arthur couldn't deny that, but admitting it would mean admitting he was in love with Francis. And...and _was_ he? He believed that, yes, they did have something special, but was he ready to say it? Was he ready to take that next step and actually confess his love?

Taking a deep breath, he nodded. "Yes." His voice came out hushed. "Yes, we might need to start focusing on our future."

Francis grinned widely, reaching over to grab Arthur's hand. "I'm glad we both feel the same way."

Arthur wondered if this was how confessing love for each other was supposed to go. It seemed Francis caught his drift about being in love, and he obviously caught Francis' drift about being in love, so now they...they were a...

"We're a couple," Arthur muttered, surprised when he came to that conclusion. "Are...are we a couple now?"

"Do you want to be?" Francis stared at him softly.

"I..." He what? What did he want? They made love, they were _in_ love, Francis wasn't going to leave him, and Arthur could feel himself suddenly floating right on up to Cloud Nine. "Yes." He blushed furiously, biting his lip and nodding. Geez, he really was rubbish with this romantic stuff. "Y-Yes, I...I do believe I'd like to be a couple."

Francis sat back, looking quite satisfied. "Then it's decided. You shall be my boyfriend and I shall be your boyfriend. It's a good thing we work together, _non?_ Now we can see each other practically everyday. Should we move in together? If so, I do believe my house is much larger."

"Move in? Seriously?" Arthur rolled his eyes in exasperation. "We only just got together, you dolt. No one's moving anywhere. We...we can save that for, uh, for later." Yes, they most certainly could. Arthur thought their sudden relationship was already serious enough. Why pile more things on top of that?

Luckily, Francis seemed to agree. "Such a smart, young man you are," he said with a chuckle, finishing off his eggs. "Alright, so we can save the moving for later on. Is there anything else you'd like to go over?"

Arthur chewed his last bite of omelet thoughtfully, ignoring the red blush that was spreading up his neck. "I...how often are we going to have sex?" He then averted his gaze awkwardly, berating himself for asking such a stupid question.

Except Francis didn't seem to find it stupid. Rather, he simply smirked and replied, "Whenever you want, _mon cher_."

When Monday rolled around, Arthur and Francis both arrived at the bakery around the same time.

"Good morning!" Francis said first, letting Arthur unlock the door to allow them both inside.

"Morning," Arthur responded gruffly, instantly starting on the chores. "How was your weekend?"

It was such a ridiculous question to ask, really, for they were together all day and night on Saturday, then again all day on Sunday, only parting when Arthur said they should probably rest well for the work week ahead of them. So unless Francis had some sort of midnight scuba-diving classes or something that Arthur was unaware of, Francis spent his entire weekend at Arthur's house.

Francis seemed to believe it was a silly question as well. "Do you even have to ask?" was his answer as he pulled on his toque and stepped behind the counter. "Honestly, Arthur, did you simply forget what we did all weekend?"

"It's common courtesy to ask that to one of your co-workers every Monday," Arthur snapped as he wiped down the tables. "I was just trying to be polite."

With a chuckle, the Frenchman responded, "Well, we might be co-workers, but are we not partners, as well? And, when we're alone, I would much rather you prefer to treat me like a partner."

Arthur glared. "Then why don't you just bend over the counter and let me fuck you before we open?"

"Really?"

"No, you dolt." Arthur sighed. "And here I thought you were intelligent. I'm not going to have sex with you in my bakery."

Francis grinned. "_Our_ bakery, Arthur."

"Yes, yes, whatever. _Our_ bakery, if you insist." He gave a huff of breath. "Whatever. It's disgusting to have sex on the counters where people will be picking up their food. I believe we'd lose sanitary points for that."

"I do believe you're right." Francis shrugged. "Well, I suppose we can just wait until tonight."

Arthur blushed. "Yeah? And who says we'll be doing it tonight?"

Francis gathered a few ingredients together before heading into the kitchen and calling out, "I do, Arthur. And I doubt you'll deny me such a simple wish, now, will you?"

Sadly enough, Arthur didn't want to deny him that. "Let's just keep the sex talk out of our bakery." He finished his chores (having done most of them Friday before leaving) and stepped into the kitchen, leaning up against the wall to watch Francis work. "Is that alright with you?"

"Perfect," Francis replied. "However, since we both keep calling it _our_ bakery, perhaps we need a new name for it."

"What do you mean? I'm the one who started it, so Kirkland's Bakery is just fine." However, Arthur couldn't help but feel Francis was right. Though Arthur was the one who took care of most of the business matters, Francis was the only reason he still _had_ a bakery. And money. And a home. Without that Frenchman, he would probably be out of a job by now. "Besides, 'Kirkland and Bonnefoy's Bakery' just sounds stupid."

Francis hummed a little, sticking something in the oven. "But Kirkland's Bakery is rather boring and, considering how it is _our_ bakery, I find it unfair that you're using only your name." He gave a little pout at this, straightening up to look Arthur in the eye. "We need something that isn't subjected to one person, yet something that has some sort of pizazz."

"Not something girly, though," Arthur quickly said. "It would be just like you to call it The Bakery of Roses or some-"

"That's silly," Francis interrupted. "_Non_, it needs to be something simple, modern, and catchy." He scurried about the kitchen, readying baked items for their day while Arthur stood by and watched (he had long since stopped offering to help as Francis told him that he'd probably burn down the kitchen). "Can we give it a French name?"

"English," Arthur snapped. "We're in England, not France."

Francis smirked. "But don't you think that the English will see a French name and realize that good food must be served?"

Arthur was struggling to keep himself from blowing up. "And what do you suggest?" he asked through gritted teeth, clenching his fists by his side. Despite now being in love with Francis (it was still a struggle to admit), the Frenchman still managed to rile him up.

"I think 'Royal Bakery' would be a lovely name for it, but since that sounds plain in English, I'd like to call it '_Boulangerie Royale_'. Much better, _oui?_"

"Boo-Laundry?" Arthur blinked.

Francis gave a chortle. "Ah, you must have the accent when you say such a word, Arthur."

Arthur repeated it over in his head. It sounded pretty fancy. It was fairly simple, and, if people were unable to pronounce the 'Boulangerie' part, it could just be shortened to 'Royale'. "Well, it's not half bad," he muttered. "I suppose we can go with that for now."

"For now?"

"Fine. Forever." He flushed red when Francis sent a smile his way. "O-Only because I can't think of anything else, though. That's the only reason we're going with this name."

"Oh, but of course."

Arthur sighed. "I'll see if we can't pay someone to put up a new sign. We'll have to change all the menus as well."

Francis nodded. "It shall be done." He walked over to Arthur, flinging a dish towel over his shoulder. "Now, how about you go and open the shop for me, _chéri_."

"I thought I told you to stop calling me by your silly French terms."

"When?"

"A while back."

Francis raised his eyebrows. "You didn't mind it in bed during the weekend."

The Englishman sputtered. "Th-That's...you're...it's beside the point, Francis!" He crossed his arms over his chest. "Wh-Why don't _you_ go open the shop?"

"Because I'm the cook and you run everything else," Francis pointed out. "Will you do it if I give you a kiss?"

Well, Arthur _did_ want a kiss. If he was to be honest with himself, he wanted more than a kiss, but a kiss, he supposed, would do fine for now. "If you must," he grumbled, acting uninterested.

Francis knew him all too well, though- the amused glint in his eyes informed Arthur that he was well aware how much the Englishman wanted a kiss.

But he didn't say anything as he brought Arthur's chin up and lightly kissed him, smiling all the while. "Now," he whispered. "Go and open up _Boulangerie Royale._"

"I'm going," Arthur muttered, his ears still pink from that kiss. "Oh, and, um...thank you, I guess, for..." _For helping, for working, for loving me..._ "For everything."

Francis smiled. "It's no problem," he replied, stepping back. "I love you. And I love working with you."

Arthur scowled. "Quit being so bloody sappy," he responded. "I don't want to be like one of those couples that hangs around each other proclaiming their love every five seconds. We're normal and we shall act as such."

"Until we reach the bedroom," Francis added, continuing about his work in the kitchen.

Arthur couldn't help but smirk. "Yes, until we reach the bedroom." With that, he walked out to the door, unable to shake off the pleased expression and peace with the world.

Not that he wanted to shake it off, anyway. He was fairly content with the way things were right now.

* * *

**You likey? If so, please feel free to leave a review! Ha, I think I might have to make an extra chapter later- I had this idea in mind after the second chapter, and I never came back to it, but IT WAS IMPORTANT! *flails about* If you caught what I totally missed, totally tell me. Otherwise...I'll probably see you on a later chapter. Thanks for reading!**


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